


Easy

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coffee Shops, Comfort, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, i wrote this for me and my friend but you can look at it too, if you want comfort and softness, this has both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Castiel and Dean stop at a coffee shop for breakfast.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	Easy

The coffee shop is quiet in the hours between morning and noon, when people are going about their own business and the only thing cutting through the silence is the low hum of the coffee machine. Occasionally, the sound of a spoon clinking against a cup rings through the room, stirring the languid atmosphere.

A waitress sets down a steaming blue cup in front of Dean and Castiel perks up when he notices the vanilla smell. That’s unusual, isn’t it? He has memorised Dean’s coffee orders down to the T, dependent on place and mood, filed somewhere in the back of his mind with all the other small things that make him happy even when he doesn’t understand why.

So he watches as Dean picks up the sugar dispenser from the table and tips some of it into his drink, a vanilla black tea if Castiel is reading the menu laying next to Dean’s arm correctly. It must be, he thinks, categorising the unknown smell for future reference. His eyes trail over Dean’s face, observing as the corners of his mouth turn upwards just a little when he stirs the sugar in, and as his brows furrow when he sets the dispenser down and spills some of it on the table. He notices the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, deeper than usual, and the gray beneath them.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asks, not just because it’s the polite thing to do but because he needs to know. No, that’s not quite right, is it? It’s not about  _ needing _ to know that Dean is alright and functioning. These days, it’s about  _ wanting _ to know if he’s okay, and if he’s not… well, there must be something he can do to fix it.

Dean passes a hand over his face, and his shoulders tighten. “Just exhausted, is all.”

Castiel nods, even though he still doesn’t quite know what that means for someone who is human and who gets exhausted all the time.

“Right,” he says, gently.

He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, relishes the smell of slightly burnt coffee, of toast and orange juice. It’s a very earthly mixture of scents -- not just because they don’t have things like this in heaven, but because it is such an innate part of the human experience, breakfasting together. The scents, the sounds, the way he can feel the warmth of the bulb hanging far too low over the table -- it’s comforting and simple and  _ good _ . A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he accepts it, lets it light up his face.

When he opens his eyes again, the smile stays there, fixed in place because of what he sees right in front of him, just a tabletop apart. Dean’s smiling back at him, a tiny thing over the rim of his steaming cup. Private, hidden, where no-one can see it but Castiel. He’ll hold on to this memory, cherish it.

“Why tea?” he asks after a few moments of companionable silence, so he can catalogue the answer in the book of Dean’s idiosyncrasies that he has started to draw up in his mind.

Dean chuckles as he puts the cup down, rubs over the sensitive skin between his eyes. “Thought it’s meant to be soothing.”

“That depends on how long you let it steep,” Castiel says.

It reminds him of other mornings, spent together at the kitchen table with Sam, who had lectured him on healthy breakfasts and the benefits of green tea over black tea, while Dean had fried bacon and Castiel had dutifully nodded along.

The Dean of the present moment, however, groans. “Great. Now I need maths to drink tea? Really?”

Even though Castiel finds it amusing, he sighs, just for show. “Not if you simply drink it, no.”

“Well,” Dean says and smirks. “You can do the math for me, then.”

Castiel wrinkles his nose, in a way he’s learnt to mean that he’s amused but wants to hide it behind a veneer of annoyance, and goes back to watching. The lines around Dean’s eyes seem a little softer when the sunlight hits them just right, and it’s the same light that makes his hair shine a smidge more golden. His skin is still a bit sallow, and Castiel feels a sudden need to hold him, keep him safe, so all the little parts that make up Dean keep on sticking together, the good, the bad, and the not-so-glorious, even though he knows he doesn’t need to be held like that. What he  _ can _ do, however, is reach out and hope that it’ll be welcome. It’s usually more welcome these days than not.

So he reaches across the table, gently puts his palm flat on top of Dean’s worn hand. It’s warm from touching his cup. Castiel can feel the rough skin spanning over his knuckles, the way the tendons move beneath it when Dean turns his hand over. It fits well underneath Castiel’s own. He can feel the way a bit of Dean’s tension fades away -- how it makes both of them feel a little lighter.

Things are better these days, easier. Easier when they’re silent together, better when he touches him. It warms a heart he was never supposed to have, but is grateful for every day. And when one of them smiles at the other, only to get a smile back, things are  _ good _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "tea". If you enjoyed it, consider leaving kudos :)


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